


Bewitched with a Kiss

by orderlychaos



Series: The Adventures of Wizard!Clint [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint and Natasha BFFs, First Date, First Kiss, M/M, Non-SHIELD AU, human!Phil, imp!Jasper, magical au, not a Harry Potter AU, not quite a Dresden Files AU, wizard!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Bad luck comes in threes… so it can gang up on you and punch you in the head.</em>
</p>
<p>Clint Barton's day isn't going so well.  It wasn't just that his mentor-father-figure had turned up unannounced to deliver bad news, or the fact that his best friend doesn't think he's capable of getting ready for his first date with Phil by himself.  Which, okay, he might not be.  But only because Phil is a classy guy.</p>
<p>Of course, since it's Clint's life, things get worse from there.  Now all he needs to do is survive the people and magic intent on disrupting his date, and sweep Phil off his feet.  What could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bewitched with a Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who was patient with me while I asked multiple questions for this fic. Also, all credit to the alternate name of the coffee shop goes to totalnerdatheart, who is totally awesome <3

_ Tao of Hawkeye #4:  Bad luck comes in threes… so it can gang up on you and punch you in the head. _

 

Jolting awake as a spark of magic reverberated down his spine, Clint Barton groaned and immediately shoved his head underneath his pillow.  He _did not_ want to be awake.  In fact, he’d hoped to be definitely _not awake_ until the early afternoon, if only to avoid a complete freak out about his date that evening.  For about half a second, Clint indulged in the idea of conjuring a fireball at the intruder.  Unfortunately, Natasha had tried her best to instill manners into him, and apparently incinerating guests was rude.  Even when those same guests snuck in through the wards on Clint’s apartment at far too early an hour of the morning.  Besides, Clint knew exactly who it was, and fireballs had no effect on Nick Fury.

With a sigh, Clint dragged his ass out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen.  Smothering a yawn, he eyed the tall tall man dressed in black leather and an eye-patch leaning against the counter.  Nick stared back.  Clint rolled his eyes, and spared a moment to be grateful he was actually wearing boxers, even if they had little black cats and witches hats on them.  Of course, if he had been sleeping naked again, Clint would just have let Nick deal with it.  The sight of Clint’s bare ass would serve him right for waking Clint up so early.  Silently, Nick held out a mug of steaming coffee, because he knew Clint and Clint’s dubious temper when woken up in the mornings.  Clint had never claimed his life was anything other than a long string of bad luck, but he’d also never forget the night Nick had stumbled across him, beaten and bleeding on the backstreets of Reno.  Clint had just had his entire world fall apart, and instead of dying in the gutter like he’d expected, Clint had found himself being rescued.

By a _dragon_.

Which was probably the closest to a fairytale as Clint's life had ever been.  All jokes about princesses, towers and piles of treasure aside.

(Clint knew all the jokes, and by this point, so did Nick.)

Despite Clint’s distrust and surly attitude, Nick had patched him up and given him a place to stay.  Slowly, and with far more patience than Clint had ever expected, Nick had also shown him that his magic didn’t make him a freak.  Clint was different - and he always would be - but that wasn’t a bad thing.  Different sometimes meant special.  Sometimes, it even meant gaining a family.  Even if Clint did sometimes try to piss Nick off by making as many dragon-related puns as possible.

With a wave of his hand, Clint levitated the offered cup towards himself.  He cradled it against his chest for a moment, inhaling the scent, before blinking up at Nick.  “So, is someone currently bleeding out or dying somewhere?” he asked, voice raspy with exhaustion.

Nick’s lips quirked into a small smirk, before his expression smoothed out again.  “Not that I’m aware of,” he replied, his voice a familiar deep rumble.

“Then why are standing in my kitchen at… six in the morning, seriously Nick, what the fuck?” Clint grumbled.

“I need your help,” Nick replied.

Clint squinted at him.  “And the problem is so important you couldn’t wait ‘til noon?”

Nick sipped his own coffee.  “It might be,” he replied quietly.

Clint scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to force his brain to wake up.  “Okay.”  Clint had known Nick since he was sixteen - if Nick said it might be serious, he meant it.  Nick was also scary as fuck and probably the most powerful being in New York, so chances were that Clint wasn’t going to like whatever favour Nick was about to ask.  He arched an eyebrow. “Hit me with it.”

Nick let out a slow breath.  “I think there’s a daemon running loose in the city,” he said gravely.

For a second, Clint choked on his coffee.  “What?”  Then a thought hit him.  “Shit, are we talking loose as in ‘wandering around’ or _loose_ as in some fucker forgot to bind the daemon to a purpose after it was summoned?”

“The second option,” Nick replied.  “Although, as far as I can tell, the daemon is not _completely_ unbound.”  He sent Clint a pointed look.  “Of course, magical summonings are your department, not mine.”

Clint groaned.  A daemon was seriously going to screw up his day.  “Aww, no.  I have a date tonight,” he muttered.

Nick blinked.  “A date?” he echoed.

With a huff, Clint rolled his eyes.  Nick had gone from Protector of New York to curious father-figure in two words.  “Yes, a date,” Clint told him.  “I do actually go on those occasionally.”

“How occasionally?” Nick asked with sharp look.

Clint glanced down at the coffee mug.  “This is our first date, okay?” he admitted.

Nick was silent for a moment.  “Okay.”

Glancing up, Clint felt his eyebrows rise.  “Okay?” he echoed.  He’d expected at least twenty questions.  Then he groaned at Nick’s smirk.  “Aww, shit, Natasha told you.”

“She didn’t tell me much,” Nick replied.  “Just that you’ve known this guy for a while.  And that you were ‘mooning over him like a lovesick teenager’.  Her words, not mine.”  Nick took a very careful sip of coffee as Clint scowled, so Clint braced himself for the next question.  “Do I know this guy?” Nick asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Clint replied flippantly.  “Do you?”

Nick narrowed his eye, but otherwise his expression didn’t flicker.  Clint was pretty sure Nick had a whole network of spies keeping an eye on the city - and Clint - but he didn’t ask about it.  That way, when the Wizard Council started demanding answers, Clint could truthfully say he had no idea what Nick was up to.  Truth was big with wizards.

“You going to tell me this guy’s name?” Nick asked with a rumble.

Clint arched a challenging eyebrow back.  “Are you going to let me go out on a date with him without interrogating either him or me?”

“Fine,” Nick replied, “but if things start to get serious, I reserve the right to meet him.”

“And Natasha wonders why I don’t date people,” Clint grumbled.

Stepping forward, Nick set down his coffee mug and clapped Clint on the shoulder.  “Let me know if you find out anything about the daemon trouble,” he said.

“Okay,” Clint agreed, the word almost swallowed by a yawn.

Chuckling, Nick shook his head.  “I know you probably won’t listen to it, but _be careful_ ,” he told Clint.  “You need to take care of yourself, Hawkeye.”

Clint smiled at his old circus nickname.  Nick was almost as fond of it as Clint was, although Nick had never really explained _why_.  “Take care of yourself too, Nick,” Clint replied quietly.

Nick shot Clint one of his rare smiles, before letting himself out Clint’s front door, which was weird.  Nick almost never used the door.  Shrugging, Clint dumped his coffee mug in the sink and headed back to his bedroom.  If he was going to be hunting daemons, he was going to take another nap first.

~*~

Clint grunted at the knock on his door, the sharp sound enough to break his concentration.  With a sigh, he let his scrying crystal drop to the table with a clatter, and rubbed a hand over his face.  His head was throbbing from a combination of frustration, magic and the strong burnt scent of his failed spells.  Clint wasn’t sure how long he’d been trying, but he hadn’t had a single piece of luck in trying to track down the daemon.  None of his usual spells and tricks had worked, and Clint was starting to get a _really_ bad feeling curling through his gut.  Someone had to be magically shielding the daemon.  It was the only explanation for why Clint hadn’t been able to find a single trace of it.  Sitting on the edge of Clint’s city map with a large scowl across his face, Jasper looked about as dejected as Clint felt.

A new series of angry thumps on his door broke into Clint’s increasingly scattered thoughts.  “Oh, right,” he muttered.

Staggering to his feet, he headed for the door, just in time to hear Natasha calling out his name.  Opening the door with a frown, Clint stepped back to let her enter.  “Hey, Nat,” he greeted.  He blinked at the garment bag in her hands.  “Ah, what’s going on?”

Natasha sighed and shook her head.  “At least you’re not panicking,” she said, critically eyeing the large stain on Clint’s t-shirt.

Clint cursed, his eyes wide as he spun to look at the clock.  His date!

“Relax, Romeo,” Natasha said, now sounding amused.  “You have time.”

Sometimes, Clint wondered what his life would be like without Natasha.  He wasn’t sure his mind could really comprehend the horror of that reality.  “Natasha, have I told you lately how much I love you?” he said.

Natasha shook her head, but her smile softened at the edges.  “Go take a shower,” she commanded.  “And where’s Jasper?”

“Kitchen,” Clint replied.  “Although he may have fallen asleep in the last thirty seconds.”

“I heard that!” Jasper’s small and outraged voice called out.

Clint grinned.  As he wandered towards the bathroom, he heard Natasha’s soft greeting to the imp.  Stripping, Clint dropped his t-shirt and jeans on the bathroom floor, and turned the shower on hot.  He hoped the temperature would help ease his headache and gather his thoughts, because he needed to be witty and charming so he could sweep Phil right off his feet.  And he only had a few hours to manage it.  Clint didn’t bother with pants when he was done, instead just wrapping a towel around his waist.  Natasha had seen him naked before, and besides, Clint was pretty sure she was going to have some fairly firm opinions on appropriate date clothes.

Padding into his bedroom, Clint found Natasha glaring at his wardrobe. “I have never met anyone who owns so much purple,” she muttered, before shooting Clint a look.

“Clint still believes the eighties were the height of fashion,” Jasper quipped from where he was curled up sleepily on Natasha’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Clint protested.  “The eighties were a good decade!”

Natasha snorted.  Clint wisely decided to let the argument go.  Instead, he turned his attention to Jasper.  “If you fall asleep up there and fall off, I won’t catch you,” he said.

Yawning, Jasper cracked open an eye.  “I’m awake,” he grumbled.  “I don’t even know why you need me for this, anyway.  I thought anything magical was supposed to stay away from dates?”

Clint felt his shoulders hunch defensively.  It was true that Clint tried to keep Jasper away from potential dates, even when they already knew about magic, but that was only because he didn’t want to scare people off with the bizarreness that was his life before he even had a chance.  “So where are you taking Phil?” Natasha asked before Clint could do more than glare back at his imp.

“Le Cirque,” Clint muttered under his breath.

Natasha turned to arch an eyebrow at him.  “I’m sorry, what?”

Clint sighed.  “Le Cirque.”

Surprise flickered through Natasha’s eyes, before her face smoothed into something carefully blank.   _Le Cirque_ was a kind of fancy place, and it was distinctly circus themed.  Not really Clint’s usual style and Natasha knew it.  Scowling, Clint cut her off before she could tell him it was a bad idea.  “I want to impress him, okay?” he said.  “Phil’s a classy guy.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at him.

In reply, Clint shrugged helplessly.  He and Phil hadn’t talked much about their pasts, but Clint did know Phil had grown up in an actual house, with a mother who’d loved him and supported him no matter what.  Not that Clint hadn’t had parents.  His father had just been a selfish dick who’d killed himself and his wife when Clint was six.  Shaking off memories before they sucked him in, Clint glanced at Natasha.  “Phil’s life isn’t filled with weird shit like magic,” he said.  “I want to have an impressive date or ten for him to remember when he inevitably finds out.”

“Are you going to tell him you’re a wizard?” Natasha asked softly.

Clint waved a hand.  “Yeah.  You know, eventually.”

“Okay,” Natasha replied.  “Where’d you get the reservations, anyway?”

“Stark,” Clint replied.

“That explains the dubious sense of humour,” Natasha said dryly.

Clint shrugged.  It really did.  To describe Tony Stark as larger-than-life was like calling Alaska kind of chilly.  Apart from being a billionaire industrialist, genius inventor and notorious playboy, Stark was also a sorcerer.  The differences between sorcerers and wizards were subtle, yet important, and Stark was fond of calling Clint in for magical support.  In exchange, Clint had the advantage of Tony Stark owing him things.  Or at least knowing who to call when he needed a favour.  Stark also knew all about Clint’s time in the circus, so when Clint had asked for reservations to somewhere fancy, Stark had smirked and given him ones at _Le Cirque_.

“So how much did that cost you?” Natasha asked.

“A favour.”  Clint winced  at Natasha’s flat look.

Jasper squinted irritably up at Clint from where he was still perched on Natasha’s shoulder, his expression an eerie echo of Natasha’s.  “Oh, hell no!” the little imp growled.  “You did not promise that deranged technomancer a favour!”

Clint rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly.  “I’ll be fine,” he said.  “I’m pretty sure he just needs help testing some of his new tech.”

“That’s what you said last time!” Jasper grumbled.  “Right before Stark’s experimental android came to life and tried to _eat_ you.”

“That was one time!” Clint protested.  “And we totally stopped it before it hurt anyone!”

Natasha muttered something under her breath and sent him a glare that definitely said, ‘don’t give me that shit, Barton’.  Then she threw a pair of boxer-briefs at his head.  Clint was 50% sure he’d never actually seen them before.  “Put those on,” Natasha ordered.

Clint gratefully did as she said, because he was getting kind of cold standing there in just a towel.  Pulling on the underwear underneath his towel, Clint straightened up again to another of Natasha’s critical looks.  “Are you going to fight me if I try and get you into a suit?” she asked.

“I’m not sure Le Cirque is a t-shirt kind of place,” Clint muttered.

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “Clint, I’m not trying to force you into a three-piece suit.  Although, I’m also not letting you leave for your date in a ratty-ass t-shirt.”

“Do I even own a three-piece suit?” Clint asked, knowing that if Natasha wanted him in one, she’d find a way.

“No,” Natasha replied, before she pointed to the garment bag lying across the end of Clint’s unmade bed.  “But I did have something tailored.”

The dark blue suit was simple, but undeniably expensive and came with a plain white shirt and no tie.  Clint was pretty grateful for the last part, because he hated it when he couldn’t get to his amulet if he needed it.  One too many magical creatures had tried to kill him for Clint to ever be comfortable walking around without the easy access to the protective runes.  Rolling his eyes when he caught Natasha’s glare, Clint started pulling on the suit and shirt.  He allowed Natasha to fuss with his clothes until they were all to her liking, before she repeated the same process with his hair.  When she was finally done, Natasha stepped back and let Clint catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror.  He blinked.  He looked almost… classy.  Reaching up, he ran a soothing finger over the chain of his amulet, before reaching up to scratch at the scruff on his chin.  “Do you think I should have shaved?” he asked.  He hadn’t even thought about it in the shower.

“No,” Natasha replied.  “It makes you look dangerous.”

Clint turned to raise his eyebrows at her, not sure if dangerous was a good thing.  Natasha rolled her eyes again.  “Phil likes dangerous,” she said.  “Trust me.”

As much as Clint wanted to ask what she meant by that, he was pretty sure he was better off not knowing.  “Okay,” he said.  “Wish me luck.”

“You won’t need it,” Natasha replied.

Clint shrugged.  “Oh, and one more thing,” he said as Natasha bundled him into his coat and scarf.  “No blabbing to Nick!”

Natasha grinned unrepentantly and shoved him out the door.

~*~

By the time Clint reached the restaurant, his heart was beating kind of fast and his palms were sweaty.  His mind had already conjured all the things that could potentially go wrong on the date, in vivid, unrelenting detail.  Facing down a goblin and arguing with a dragon he could do, but a date with Phil Coulson terrified him, because when it came down to it, Phil was a classy, normal guy.  The kind of guy who knew what to do in a restaurant like this.  Unlike Clint, he wouldn’t mess up which fork to use, or drag his sleeve through his food.  The million doubts were so busy running around his head that Clint didn’t see Phil until he walked right into something solid, and looked up into Phil’s faintly amused face.  “Woah,” Phil said, reaching out to grab Clint by both arms so he didn’t fall over in an embarrassing heap.

“Phil,” he said stupidly, a blush heating his cheeks.

“Hi,” Phil replied, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

Clint stared at Phil for an awkward moment.  Was he supposed to shake Phil’s hand?  Did they hug?  Shit, he should have asked Natasha before he left.

In deference to the colder weather, Phil wore a thick black coat over what looked like a proper suit and tie.  Clint resisted the urge to rub his palms against his slacks, because he wasn’t sure he could survive Phil in an actual suit.  “Is everything okay?” Phil asked softly.

Clint forced a smile.  “Just a bit nervous, I guess.”

Phil smiled wryly, as if he completely understood, which - what?  Why would Phil be nervous going out on a date with Clint?  Clint was the one way out of his league here.

Stepping back, Phil let go of Clint’s arms, before one of his hands came up to rest at the small of Clint’s back.  Clint was pretty sure that if he wanted to be suave and charming, _he_ was the one that was supposed to be doing that, but the touch was nice.  It also helped Clint relax a little.  He _knew_ Phil.  They were friends.  And so what if for the first time in his life, Clint could see himself ending up in a romantic relationship that might actually last?  He didn’t have to go confessing everything yet.  Clint just hoped he could get through this date without making an ass out of himself.

Phil guided him inside, where their coats were efficiently taken, and as soon as Clint had managed to stammer out his name, they were whisked off to their table.  The main dining room of _Le Cirque_ was impressively decorated with dark red carpet and the stunning, abstract Big Top the restaurant was known for.  Even the tables were pristine, with their fancy folded napkins and bright white table clothes.  From where they were sitting, Clint had a nice view of the impressive stone courtyard outside, which was a little better than staring at the expensively dressed guests sitting at the other tables.  Clint fidgeted with his jacket, more convinced than ever that this was the kind of place he just didn’t fit into.  He was pretty sure everyone else could see it too, like an invisible stamp on his forehead.

“Impressive,” Phil said quietly when their waiter, George, had left them alone with menus and the wine list.

Clint nodded and reached for his water glass.  His mouth was so dry he could barely swallow, and it was entirely Phil’s fault.  Clint thought he’d been ready for his date, but _nothing_ had prepared him for the sight of Phil Coulson in a well-tailored, three-piece suit.  The jacket stretched across Phil’s shoulders, emphasizing them in a way that his sweaters never did, and the waistcoat beneath hugged his strong chest.  Somehow, the silver of Phil’s tie brought out the aching blue of his eyes, for once not hidden behind glasses.  Not that Clint hated the glasses.  He _liked_ the glasses.  It was just that Phil in a suit was something else.  If Clint had thought Phil was out of his league _before_ , well, this just confirmed it.  “I called in a favour,” he finally answered Phil’s question, not really sure what else to say.

Phil ducked his head, his ears turning a faint pink.  “I’m flattered you think I’m worth all this,” he said.

Clint frowned.  What the hell was Phil talking about?

The flush on Phil’s ears deepened.  “I mean,” he said, clearing his throat and reaching for his own water.  “You look very nice tonight.  Handsome.”

Clint blushed again.  “Thanks,” he said resisting the urge to tug at his shirt collar.  “You look really good too.”

Phil smiled back.

George discreetly reappeared before Clint had to find anything else to say, and Clint glanced up gratefully.  “Can I get you anything to drink, sir?” the waiter asked.

“Ah…” Clint replied, looking down at the wine list.  Shit, why did he think this was a good idea again?  Phil was going to realize any second now that Clint had no idea what he was doing.  Also, Clint needed to get his nerves under control before he set the tablecloth on fire with a random surge of magic or something.

“Would you allow me?” Phil asked softly.

Clint had to stubbornly will himself not to blush again.  Not that Phil looked irritated that Clint didn’t know his wine choices.  “Sure,” he said.

With a polite smile, Phil rattled off a string of French and before Clint knew it, his order had been taken and George was disappearing with the menus.  At Clint’s curious look, Phil smiled, but the edges looked forced and his eyes had gone distant.  “My grandfather had fairly firm opinions on wine,” he explained quietly.  “One of the things I had to learn growing up was how to make appropriate choices.”

Clint blinked, because there definitely sounded like a story behind that.  “Appropriate choices, huh?” he said, not pushing, but happy to hear whatever Phil wanted to tell him.

Phil went quiet for a moment, smiling politely as George came back with the wine, pouring both Clint and Phil a glass after Phil nodded his approval.  Phil watched the waiter leave, his fingers toying with the stem of his glass, before glancing back at Clint.  Clint’s fingers itched to smooth away the frown lines that had appeared on Phil’s forehead.  “My grandfather wasn’t a very approving man,” Phil said finally.  “He cut my mother off when she married my father, because Grandfather thought Dad wasn’t good enough.  After Dad died… well, if it wasn’t for my Aunt, I’m not sure where I would have ended up.”  Phil blinked, seeming to shake off his memories, before a smirk curved across his face.  Swallowing hard, Clint could only stare.  “The short version is that I spent the majority of my teenage years making sure I never did anything Grandfather approved of ever again,” Phil continued.  “I was a bit of a punk.”

“Really?” Clint said, his mind suddenly filled with images of teenage Phil with a leather jacket and a black eye.

“Really,” Phil replied.  “Disappointed?”

Clint grinned.  “Hell, no.”

“How about you?” Phil asked with a smile.  “What’s your family like?”

All of Clint’s humour fled.  Biting back a grimace, he remembered why he hated first dates.  Normal people liked to talk about their families, and always seemed to get irritated when Clint didn’t.  Not that Phil’s life had been as perfect as Clint had imagined, so maybe Phil would understand.  “Well, you’ve already met Nat,” he said.  Even to him, his smile felt forced.  “And there’s Jasper, but he’s kind of hard to explain.”  Without telling Phil that Jasper was an imp, anyway.  “And then there’s Nick, my mentor, who taught me pretty much everything I know.”  Shrugging, Clint studied the invisible runes he was tracing over the tablecloth.  He wasn’t sure if he looked Phil in the face that he’d be able to get the next words out.  “They’re… I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them.”

Clint glanced up, startled, when Phil’s hand reached out to cover his.  The smile on Phil’s face was understanding and infinitely kind.  “Maybe I can meet Jasper and Nick one day?” he said.

The rush of gratitude and affection Clint felt towards the man in front of him was almost overwhelming.  Phil was so good at respecting Clint’s boundaries when so many other people would push for answers.  “I’d like that,” Clint replied, his voice thick.  “I think you’d really like Jasper.”  He could see Jasper adoring Phil almost as much as Clint did.  Well, after Phil had gotten used to the whole magical creature, small-as-a-tea-cup thing.

Catching sight of something over Clint’s shoulder, Phil pulled his hand back, and Clint immediately missed the warmth.  Although, he didn’t miss the familiar touch of gun callouses, which he was going to ask Phil about very soon.  Clint didn’t know if it was related to Phil’s years of rebellion, but most baristas he knew didn’t handle weapons regularly.

“I’m very sorry to disturb you, sir,” George said to Clint, appearing at their table, “but there is a gentleman at the bar who wishes to speak with you.  He’s very insistent.”  The faint frown on the waiter’s face spoke volumes.

Clint glanced over at the bar and bit back a groan of frustration when he saw Blake.  The last thing he wanted to deal with tonight was the damn Council.  “I can ask him to leave, sir?” George said, almost hopefully.

“No,” Clint replied, before giving the guy a wry smile.  “Thanks, anyway.”  If he didn’t deal with Blake now, the man would only get more annoying.  Clint turned to Phil.  “I’m so sorry,” he apologized, wincing inwardly.  “I’ll only be a minute.”

“It’s okay, Clint,” Phil said, and he actually looked like he meant it.

Clint could only hope he got rid of Blake before Phil _did_ start to mind.  Slipping out of his chair, Clint headed for the bar, determined to make Blake go away.  “What do you want, Blake?” Clint demanded quietly as he walked up to the other wizard.

Blake’s eyes flicked up and down Clint’s body for a second.  “I didn’t know you owned a suit, Barton,” he said.  “You should try wearing it to Council meetings once in a while.  You know, for a change of pace.”

Considering Clint’s presence was only ever requested at Council meetings when the Council believed he’d done something wrong or when everything was about to go to shit, Clint was going to continue turning up in cargo pants and combat boots, thanks.  Practicality and comfort were always more useful than trying to fit in with a bunch of dicks that hated him anyway.  “I’ll say it again, Blake,” he growled.  “What do you want?”

“I want an update on the ley line situation,” Blake replied, his lips firming into a thin line.

“And so you tracked me down at _dinner_?” Clint said, incredulous.

Blake narrowed his eyes.  “You ignored the last two requests I made for a meeting,” he said.  “I assumed you would have more trouble ignoring me in person.”

Clint wanted to growl and curse.  “Now is really not a good time, Blake,” he snapped.

Blake’s eyes glanced in Phil’s direction, and Clint had to resist doing the same.  “This is more important than your date, Barton,” Blake said.

“Not to me, it isn’t,” Clint shot back.

Blake sighed.  “Fine,” he snapped, “but I expect a report first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll be sure to stop by,” Clint drawled.  He tried to keep most of the anger from his voice, but judging by Blake’s expression, he hadn’t managed very well.

“Make sure that you do,” Black said.

Clint waited until he was sure Blake had left, before returning to the table.  Sometime while he’d been gone, George had returned with their appetisers, because something distinctly elaborate but delicious looking was waiting for him.  “Hey, so… sorry,” he muttered, sliding back into his chair.

“It’s okay, Clint.  Really,” Phil said.  “Duty called.”

“Yeah, well, it better not call again,” Clint grumbled, before lapsing into silence.

“So,” Phil said, before taking a sip of wine.  “Did I ever tell you I almost didn’t name the coffeeshop _Bean There, Done That_?”

“No, you didn’t,” Clint said, immediately charmed by Phil’s bashful smile.  A grown man should not be that adorable, damn it.  “Did the other name have something to do with Captain America?”

“No,” Phil said, rolling his eyes.  “It was Madonna, actually.”

“ _Madonna_?” Clint echoed with a grin.

Phil hummed in agreement, his eyes dancing.  “I was almost the owner of _Expresso Yourself_.”

Clint laughed.  He couldn’t help it.  “I like that,” he said.

“I thought you might,” Phil replied fondly.

Ducking his head, Clint grinned at his plate.  The food was as tasty as it looked, and the more Clint ate, the more he realized how starving he was.  He just had to remember not to drag his cuff through the sauce, because that would not be classy.  Clint thought he’d probably managed it, but he was still relieved when George appeared with his medium-rare steak.  Potatoes and meat didn’t require fancy forks to eat them.

“I’m assuming from your happy grunts, the steak is good?” Phil said after a moment.

Jerking his head up, it took Clint a few seconds to work out Phil was teasing him.  Since his mouth was full, Clint settled for raising both eyebrows at Phil, and hoped his cheeks didn’t look too much like a hamsters.  Phil shook his head with a smile.  “If you keep eating like a starving man, you’re going to wake up all my instincts to take you home and feed you,” he said quietly.

Clint chewed carefully and swallowed.  The offer hit him somewhere deep in his chest, and it wasn’t just because his magic burned a lot of calories.  Very few people in Clint’s life had ever wanted to take care of him, and there were even fewer who Clint would actually let do it.  “Too much?” Phil asked, before taking hurried bite of his lamb, like he was trying to stop himself from saying something else.

“No,” Clint said, clearing his throat when his voice came out rougher than he’d intended.  “Particularly if you feed me more of those chocolate and cherry muffins.”

Phil smiled his adorable smile again, his eyes crinkling.

Clint smiled back, searching his brain for another conversation topic.  Just as he was about to ask about Skye and May, Clint felt a tingling rush of magic skitter over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.  The ring on his left index finger vibrated and the one on his right ring finger burned hot for a second.

Okay, that was bad.

Glancing carefully around the restaurant, Clint couldn't see anyone who looked like they were trying to cast a spell.  Particularly not one so powerful - or dark.  The oily sensation of the black magic was heavy in the air, bringing with it the thick scent of rot and decay.  Clint swallowed, immediately losing his appetite.  Thankfully, there was no smell of sulfur, so Clint was pretty sure it wasn’t the daemon.  Of course, that didn’t mean Clint wasn’t pissed as fuck that some asshole was interrupting his date.

“Clint, is everything all right?” Phil asked quietly.

Clint forced a smile.  “Everything is great,” he lied.  “I’m just…”  He jerked his thumb in the direction of the bathrooms.  “Excuse me for a minute?”

“Of course,” Phil replied.

Rising to his feet, Clint headed in the direction of the bathrooms, trying to sort through all the chaos bombarding his magical senses.  The spell wasn’t powerful enough to be a summoning, and Clint doubted that whoever the caster was had time or space for that kind of ritual anyway.  Closing his eyes, Clint took a deep breath and tried to ignore the way the stench made his stomach churn.  Thankfully, none of the other diners could sense or smell anything, but Clint wasn’t looking forward to telling Phil why he suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.  Finally, Clint managed to lock onto a thread of magic in the half-completed spell.  He tracked it back to the source, immediately recognizing the threads as a paralyzer spell.  Clint couldn’t help thinking about the unknown magic user who’d been messing with the ley lines.  Blake wasn’t going to like this at all.

Opening his eyes, Clint met the predatory gaze of a hooded figure standing in a darkened corner.  Whoever he was, he was a man, but that was about all Clint could say for sure.  Keeping his fingers hidden as best as he could, Clint drew on his own power as he finished walking across the dining room.  He really didn’t want to make a scene, but he wasn’t about to let some asshole take him out with black magic either.

The hooded figure struck just as Clint ducked into the corridor outside the bathrooms - and out of sight of the main part of the restaurant.  Clint had been expecting the attack, but that didn’t make it suck any less.  As soon as the hooded man sent his magic spinning towards Clint, Clint threw up his hastily cast shield.  The dark, burning magic flared white when it hit Clint’s defensive spell, bright enough that Clint was forced to squeeze his eyes shut.  Around his neck, his amulet pulsed as the protective runes caught the magic that slipped through his shield, sending a wave of prickling tingles rippling across Clint’s skin.  When Clint could finally blink away the spots in his vision, he was slumped against the wall, breathing hard, and the hooded man was long gone.  Just to check, Clint stretched out his magical senses anyway, but there was nothing.

A painful throbbing was starting to build in Clint’s head, a backlash to all the magic that had been so thick in the air.  With a sigh, he ducked into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, but it didn’t do much to help.  He was really annoyed at the universe right now.  Was it really too much to ask to get one non-catastrophic date with the man of his dreams?

Taking another deep breath, Clint checked his reflection in the mirror and headed back towards his and Phil’s table.  Only, as he was crossing the dining room, Clint caught sight of the familiar, Brioni-clad asshole heading towards him and bit back a groan of pure frustration.

Just what he needed.

Tony fucking Stark.

Clint sighed, bracing himself for the inevitable.  Stark called out his name, walking over with his arms out, and Clint found himself being pulled into a back-slapping hug.  He wasn’t exactly sure _why_ Stark kept hugging him in public all the damn time, but at least half the room was pretending not to be watching Stark, while the other half wasn’t trying to hide their attention.  “So what the hell was all that about?” Stark asked in a low voice as he pulled back, his public smile fixed on his face and ridiculous tinted glasses covering his eyes.

“Just some asshole trying to ruin my day,” Clint muttered.  “I’ve got it handled.”

Stark glared at him over the top of his glasses.  “Yeah, no, try again, Barton,” he replied.  “That was black magic.”

Narrowing his eyes, Clint glared right back.  “And I told you I was handling it.”

For a second, Stark just raised both his eyebrows.  “What exactly are you dabbling in these days?” he asked.

Clint scowled, and reminded himself that he couldn’t punch Tony Stark in the face in the middle of a crowded restaurant.  Especially not with Phil watching.  “Look, I agreed to do the Council a favour,” he said, “and like always, it’s turning out more complicated that it was supposed to be.”

“Complicated enough that you have a dark wizard after you?” Stark said, and he could have sounded a little less incredulous.  Clint _was_ capable of looking after himself.

“Apparently,” Clint muttered in reply.  Then he let out a slow breath.  “As much fun as this is, Stark, can we do it another time?” he said.  “I’m on a date.”

“Oh yeah,” Stark said with a grin.  “How’s that going for you?  And, more importantly, are you going to introduce me?  Because let me tell you, Barton, that with the way you hate owing me favours, I expect an underwear model at the very least.”

Clint let out another slow breath, biting back a hot surge of anger, because Phil was gorgeous, smart and kind, and way better than an underwear model.  “Not everyone is as shallow as you, Stark,” he growled.

“Woah, no need to look so homicidal, Barton.  I’m sure they’re amazing,” Stark replied, sounding as apologetic as Stark ever got.  “Does your wonderful date like blueberries?”

There was a moment when Clint opened his mouth to ask Stark what the hell he was talking about, before he decided he really didn’t want to know.  Instead, he pushed past Stark and headed back to where Phil was waiting.  Unfortunately, Stark dogged his heels the whole way like a particularly determined puppy.  When they were almost at the table, Clint turned to face Stark and smirked when the other man almost crashed into him.

“What’s with the stopping, Barton?” Stark asked.

Clint reminded himself of the no-punching rule.  “I’m on a _date_ ,” he snapped.

“I know,” Stark said with a smirk, before stepping around Clint.  “Hi, I’m Tony Stark,” he introduced.  “Who are you?”

Part of Clint actually couldn’t believe Stark was _crashing his date_.  Hoping this wasn’t about to turn into a disaster, Clint glanced over at Phil, only to find him rising gracefully to his feet.  “I’m Phil,” he said, holding out his hand.  He didn’t seem too concerned when Stark ignored it.  “Phil Coulson.”

Stark didn’t hide the blatant way he checked Phil out.  “Nice suit,” he said.  “Do you like blueberries?”

“Uh… yes?” Phil replied, his forehead slightly scrunched in confusion.  Confusion was a lot of peoples’ reactions to meeting Tony Stark, Clint found.

“Great.”  Stark clapped his hands.  “I know the head chef here.  He does this amazing thing with blueberries and champagne mousse.  Don’t worry, it’s my gift to you.”

Thankfully, before Clint had to resort to magic to make Stark disappear, he caught sight of another familiar face striding across the restaurant.  As almost always, Pepper Potts was impeccably dressed and undeniably pissed.  Her strawberry blonde hair swayed in time with her hips, and her narrowed eyes meant _trouble_ for Stark.  The sight was pretty damn hot, actually.  Not as hot as Phil in his fucking _three-piece suit_ , but still hot.  “Tony,” Pepper said, somehow keeping her voice level.  “Your investors are waiting for you.  You can’t just get up and leave like that!”

Clint was pretty sure Stark would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t thought Pepper would murder him.  “I’m a billionaire, Pep.  I don’t _need_ investors,” he complained.

“You might not, but Stark Industries does,” Pepper replied firmly.  Then her gaze slid to Clint and softened apologetically.  “I’m so sorry, Clint.  We’re leaving.”  She glanced at Phil, and then blinked.  “I’m… Phil?”

“Hello, Pepper,” Phil greeted with a warm smile, and Clint was absolutely not jealous of that.

As Pepper looked over at Clint again, the beginnings of a sly smile curved her lips.  “ _Phil_?” Stark demanded.  “How do you know _Phil_?”

With an amused huff, Pepper turned an exacerbated look on Stark.  “Tony, I see him every morning.”

“You do?” Stark said.  “How?  Why?”  Then, apparently working out what Pepper meant, Stark whirled on Phil.  “You’re the one that makes the amazing coffee! “ he accused.

“Apparently,” Phil said dryly.

“I’m so sorry.  Again,” Pepper told him, before she used both hands to propel Stark away, presumably back to whatever meeting he had with his investors.

Clint glanced at Phil and shrugged a little helplessly.  “Sorry,” he said, echoing Pepper’s apology.

“It’s okay,” Phil replied, but Clint could see the way his smile was a little forced at the edges.  “By all reports, Tony Stark is a force unto himself.”

Nodding, Clint took his seat again as Phil did the same.  “Yeah,” he agreed.

Due to whatever combination of charm and money Stark had exerted over the kitchens, George the waiter brought out their desserts a few minutes later.  Whatever the blueberry thing was called, it was amazing, but the awkwardness that had settled between him and Phil kind of spoiled it for Clint.  Fidgeting with his jacket cuffs, Clint offered Phil a small smile and wracked his brain for something to say.  The conversation that had seemed so easy earlier had dried up, and the silence was stiff and uneasy.  Phil’s eyes were flicking around the restaurant, and it was stupid, but Clint hated the way those warm, blue eyes were no longer fixed on _him_.  All the good intentions Clint had had for the date were slipping through his fingers, and he had no idea on how to salvage anything.  His few mouthfuls of dessert sat like a lead weight in his stomach, and deep in his chest, Clint felt something curl up tight.

“This isn’t working, is it?” Phil said quietly.

Clint’s heart lurched in his chest, every word hitting him like a sucker punch to the stomach.  “I guess not,” he replied.  Panic bubbled up in his throat, but he squashed it down.  Clint wasn’t sure there was anything he could say to get Phil to change his mind.  It shouldn’t have been so surprising, anyway.  Everything from the restaurant to the interruptions to Tony fucking Stark had just proved how Phil could do so much better than Clint.  He forced himself to look Phil in the eye and offered a tight smile.  “I’ll get the check.”

Waving the waiter over, Clint ignored the way Phil said his name.  Only, it turned out when Tony Stark ordered you dessert, he paid for dinner too.  On any other day, Clint would have rolled his eyes and sent Stark an irritated message, but right at that moment, he was feeling too much like he’d had his guts yanked out.  Leaving George a large tip, Clint silently escorted Phil to get their coats, and then out onto the street.  The night had gotten colder while they’d been inside, and Clint shivered, hunching his shoulders.  He wasn’t sure what was going to happen next - was this the part where he had to watch Phil walk away?  Or maybe Phil would say something kind, but infinitely heartbreaking about staying friends and Clint would lose his chance.

Clint wasn’t sure which option would hurt less.  He’d been stupid to think he’d get to keep this anyway.

“Hey,” Phil said softly, gently grabbing Clint’s arm and leading him into the sheltered corner of a nearby building, out of the wind and the flow of the crowd on the street.  Clint stared over his shoulder at the building’s wall, wanting nothing more than to go home to his cramped apartment, crawl into his bed and hide underneath the blankets.  Phil’s warm hand came up to cup Clint’s cheek, startling Clint enough that he glanced over and met Phil’s wide, sad gaze.  “I’m sorry, Clint.  I didn’t mean that how it sounded,” he said, his shoulders rising in a half shrug.  “I meant… the restaurant, the interruptions.  Not you.   _Never_ you.”

Clint blinked, not really understanding what Phil was saying.  He wasn’t sure what Phil could see on his face, but Phil just stroked his thumb soothingly over Clint’s cheekbone.  “I’m… well, I’m actually kind of speechless that you went through all this effort to impress me,” he continued quietly, “but you didn’t have to.  I’m _already_ impressed by you, Clint.  All I want to do is spend time with you, get to know you.  Somewhere you can relax and smile and hopefully get to know me too.”

Words had never been Clint’s strength, and even if they had been, he wasn’t sure he could have found anything to say to that.  Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned in to press his forehead again Phil’s.  Phil smelled like expensive cologne, and a little like red wine and blueberries.  “So if I asked you out on a second date, you’d actually say yes?” he asked.

Phil huffed out something that might have been a laugh.  Clint could feel the warmth of Phil’s breath on his cheek.  “For the record, Clint,” he replied, “I would say yes to a thousand more dates with you.”

“Oh,” Clint said helplessly.

He opened his eyes when Phil leaned back, and Phil’s smile kind of made him want to drown in it.  When Phil leaned in again slowly, all Clint could do was watch, shivering slightly at the slide of Phil’s hand over his jaw and around the back of his neck.  The first brush of Phil’s lips against his was soft and over far too quickly, but Clint didn’t let Phil retreat very far.  Stepping forwards, Clint tightened his grip on Phil and pressed his mouth firmly against Phil’s.  The kiss was soft and sweet, and Clint shifted closer still, drawn towards Phil’s warmth and solid strength.  Phil was hesitant at first, but he seemed to grow bolder when Clint let out a breathy groan.  Keeping his movements slow, Clint deepened the kiss, wanting to lose himself in this perfect moment.  Clint wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but it wasn’t nearly long enough.  When he finally managed to pull himself away, Phil’s eyes were dazed.  Sucking in a deep breath, Phil blinked.  “Wow,” he said.

Clint curled closer, wondering if Phil would mind if he buried his face in Phil’s shoulder for a while.  “Wow is definitely the word for it,” he agreed.

Phil smiled and ducked his head, and it was only then that Clint realized he’d slid both of his hands into Phil’s coat and under Phil’s suit jacket.  Idly, Clint wondered if he should move them.  Considering the way Phil’s left hand was resting on his hip while Phil’s other cradled Clint’s neck and jaw, Clint was guessing Phil was okay with all the touching.  “So,” Clint said, wiggling his eyebrows a little ridiculously.  “Should I walk you home like a gentleman so we can make out some more on your front porch?”

Phil rolled his eyes.  “I don’t have a front porch,” he pointed out.

Clint leaned in for another kiss, because he loved it when Phil got all snarky.  “I was speaking metaphorically,” he said when he pulled back again.

“We can do that,” Phil conceded.  “On one condition.”

“Is this about following the hands-above-the-waist rule?” Clint asked.

“In public, yes,” Phil said, “but not actually what I was getting at.”

Clint raised his eyebrows expectantly, unable to keep the smile off his face.  “All right.  Name your condition.”

“The next time you take me out, you take me somewhere you can wear jeans,” Phil said.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Clint said, trying to cover the way his stomach had done a large flip somewhere in the vicinity of his ribs.

“It’s like that,” Phil replied, his smile distinctly mischievous.

This time it was Phil who leaned in for a kiss.  “Deal,” Clint muttered against his lips.

“Good,” Phil replied, before grabbing Clint’s hand and tugging him in the direction of the nearest subway entrance.

Clint laughed.  If this was what the end of a first date with Phil was like, Clint was _really_ looking forward to date number two.

 

Fin.


End file.
